


A World Without Monsters

by SoulPhrase



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Post-Time Skip, additional tags to be added when relevant, descriptions of violence, expect sad and angry dimitri often
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 20:01:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20263726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulPhrase/pseuds/SoulPhrase
Summary: A development of Dimitri's character, primarily his darker aspects. Smut with F!Byleth is planned for later chapters. Anticipate spoilers for the Blue Lions route.





	A World Without Monsters

Each crunch of snow is soft beneath Dimitri’s feet.

He pulls the furs of his coat closer to his small form, observing his wisps of breath fighting against the cold. It would be several hours before the sun was set to rise. Even then, the thin rays of sunshine would offer little respite. Winters in Fhirdiad were unforgiving.

As crown prince, it was his responsibility to embrace this harsh landscape: to learn its most bitter cold, and how best to thrive within it. ‘A king cannot understand his people without first understanding his country,’ as Father would say.

He had been trained well to fulfill this duty, even at his tender age of ten. Yet no amount of lifting heavy objects and sprinting through treacherous woods could prevent the prickling of cold against his flushed cheeks.

. . .

Today, Dimitri was to collect his first wolf pelt: a tradition passed down within the Blaiddyd family. Father was present to bear witness, treading on ahead of him. An immense joy in itself—it was scarce for the two of them to have proper time alone as a father and son. Even now the two were not truly by themselves: Rodrigue and several royal guards lingered in the area for protection. Still, that Lambert was nearby at all was enough to make Dimitri’s heart race.

Following his father's guidance, Dimitri places his steps into the imprints of soles left behind. The sheer size of Lambert’s boots compared to his own eases his travel across the thickening sheets of snow. He nearly trips a few times, though the prince is swift to right himself and continue.

Without a word, Lambert halts his steps. Dimitri follows suit, almost bumping into his father’s waist. The boy’s eyes are wide when Lambert bends his knees to reach eye level. Could it be?

Father raises a finger to his lips, cracking into a smile.

That smile widens when Dimitri gasps, expression glowing with childlike wonder.

_A wolf!_

Dimitri had _longed_ to witness one in the wild. Father described them as brilliant and proud: always fighting for the good of their families. An animal befitting of the Blaiddyd name. He admired the beautiful sheen of wolf fur, painted in natural streaks of silver or black dependent on the season. It was a marvel he’d only appreciated from the King’s own pelt collection.

Lambert gestures for his son to follow, crouching his way into some nearby shrubbery. With some luck, the bushes are tall enough to conceal them both. Dimitri feels a warm hand on the middle of his back to ease him forward. Peeking between the ice-laden leaves, he manages to spot a figure.

Though distant, the striking white and silver of its back assures him that it’s a wolf. It hadn’t caught on to their presence, busy sinking its paws into the snow. Digging around in hopes of an easy meal, most likely. Dimitri watches on in awe of its splendor. Its pointed ears, elongated snout and elegant gait capture his full attention.

At least, until Father ruffles his hair. Dimitri stifles his giggles best as he can, covering his mouth for good measure.

“Pretty as you expected?” Lambert’s voice is low and quiet, sharpened eyes trained on the wolf.

“Even better,” Dimitri beams. “Thank you, Father.”

“No need for thanks. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” The back of his hand nudges against the loaded quiver strapped over Dimitri’s shoulder.

“I have yet to see you hunt.”

_‘Make me proud’_ is what Dimitri instead hears.

He reaches back to retrieve an arrow while Lambert hands him a bow. Dimitri’s gloved fingers trace its metallic form while his eyes shift back to their target. The wolf sniffs along the weathered ground, taking an occasional step forward. It stands centered in a clearing among the barren trees.

An easy shot.

Yet the young prince rolls the stem of his arrow back and forth, between his index finger and thumb. The Blaiddyd bloodline is gifted with inherent strength: to wield a bow without breaking it is considered an exceptional show of restraint. It was an ordeal that came with much trial and error. He’d been taught to hunt game by Gustave, mostly rabbits and fowl to help sharpen his aim. Though the size of his prey was not the root of his uncertainty.

“Father?” Dimitri’s voice is soft. “Do you think it has family?”

Lambert’s gaze lowers, coming to a quick understanding of why his son would stay his hand.

. . .

“Very likely.”

A wince. Dimitri averts his eyes, thoughts venturing elsewhere. He knew well that he would need to draw the blood of a beloved animal today. Prepared as he’d seemed before their departure, Dimitri had always been one to get cold feet right before committing such an act. His tender soul was his greatest strength: something Lambert had often lauded him for.

“Yes, it is likely,” Lambert reiterates. Each word is spoken slowly, giving Dimitri time to digest their meaning.

“As will your foes on the battlefield. They will turn to any means necessary to gain the upper hand—for the sake of their families—and you must not be swayed by their deception.”

He pauses to take a breath.

“Animals, like wolves, are different.”

Dimitri raises an eyebrow, waiting for his father to continue. He watches as the wolf lifts its head, frostbitten ears perked.

“Unlike man… animals always show their true intentions. They are not always kind, but will never lie.”

Lambert leads a hand to rest against Dimitri’s chest.

“In that way, they are always exposing their hearts to us.”

Dimitri’s pulse races against his enclosed fingers. His irises wander the vast expanse of white in front of them, mind adrift in search of answers. A momentary tremble of his lips, overtaken by a sharp intake of breath that bites at his lungs with cold.

“…I don’t understand.”

Lambert’s expression softens. The wolf finally turns to face them.

“Perhaps not now, but I know you will. You’re a smart boy.”

Dimitri catches on to the wolf’s scrutiny. Piercing yellow eyes look them over, assessing whether or not the pair are any threat. In that moment, the boy’s heart beats with emotions that he couldn’t yet fathom. Adrenaline pumps through his veins, and he finds himself unable to tear his gaze away.

. . .

A connection forms between them.

One that was meant to be severed from the instant they met eyes.

“_Draw_.”

At his father’s whisper, he exhales the breath he’d been holding in. All his fears and inhibitions suddenly leave Dimitri’s body. As if under a trance, his hands move to nock the arrow in place without breaking eye contact. He straightens his posture, pulling back the bowstring as he’d been trained to.

The wolf bares a flash of its teeth. Dimitri pulls back…

And lets the arrow fly.

* * *

_Click._

Her heels clatter against the stone stairwell. The only sound in an otherwise desolate building—the place she had called home, once upon a time. The musty odor of dust and decay fills her with a somber nostalgia. How quickly those years had come and gone… in the blink of an eye, even.

With that passage of time came a massive change in scenery.

_Click._

The monastery had seen better days, clearly. Walls had been torn down, caked at the edges with moss. Arches that towered overhead had been split open, sunlight breaching in through the gaps. Each corridor offered their own vision into the past: students dashing by, stacks of books in hand… now and then she’d be pulled to the side to request extra tutoring. No longer.

Tables were turned over, the contents of open shelves spread haphazard across the stone floor… doors removed from their hinges.

The air is stale, yet cool against her exposed skin.

Peaceful, despite the obvious looting that had taken place during days gone by.

_Click._

Though not for long.

. . .

The villager who rescued her had warned as much, but she could never have anticipated something so merciless.

It began with one soldier. Splayed out at the base of more stairs, a ghastly expression peeking out from under his helmet. Not a single drop of blood, yet his limbs were clearly broken. Arms, legs… even his neck is bent in a sickening, exaggerated angle.

Such a death was clearly no accident.

Then a second, a third… each soldier’s death more grotesque than the last.

Their mouths gaped wide like gutted fish—at least, those who still had their faces intact. Pungent flesh and bone lay bare through breaches in their armor. All left to rot on the stairs, discarded like trash. Red imprints from a boot are pressed into their backs, the blood still relatively fresh. A sticky, macabre display of the murderer’s intentions.

Speaking of, the killer couldn’t have ventured far. There was no doubt that these corpses belonged to Imperial soldiers. She had witnessed such a ruthless manner of killing only once before, five years ago in the Holy Tomb. She could only think of one man capable of such carnage.

. . .

No, that couldn’t be the case.

He had no reason to be here.

Not after five, arduous years.

. . .

Yet there he was.

A lone man, shoulders hunched and leaning against the back wall. Scarlet footprints and shattered weapons scattered across the soiled floor. He’s clad in black armor from the neck-down, adorned with a fur mantle. A spear of mediocre quality slants beside his body, motionless as a sculpture. Even at this distance, she can tell that his entire body is encrusted in blood and dirt. His golden locks are overgrown and matted, sticking to his face and covering his eyes.

Her eyebrows furrow as she looks him over, again and again.

There was no mistaking it.

“Dimitri?”

The name leaves her lips on its own.

He lifts his head slowly, hair dropping to uncover the eyepatch underneath. Flecks of dried blood cling to his cheeks. His working eye look cloudy and distant, his gaze passing through her. As if the man couldn’t recognize her.

As if she weren’t there at all.

Just then, she watches his chapped lips part. Breathless, he manages to mouth the word in a daze.

‘_Byleth_.’

It really was him. Haggard and gnarled, but Dimitri all the same. ‘Relief’ couldn’t begin to explain the sensation that fluttered in her chest. The eyepatch concerned her immensely, but she assumed the blood wasn’t his.

Regardless, Byleth approaches Dimitri to offer her hand. “Are you injured?”

. . .

No response.

His eye just passes over her outstretched arm lazily, lips still parted from when he’d uttered her name. This statuesque expression is broken by a frown, Dimitri abruptly turning his face away.

“I should have known,” he murmurs to the ground. “That one day, _you_ would haunt me too.”

He laughs. A sad, dry laugh devoid of mirth.

She doesn’t understand. Before Byleth can inquire, Dimitri’s head snaps up. His eye is sharp, narrowed. Teeth bared in a grimace, his voice curls into a malicious snarl.

“I will _kill_ Edelgard! I swear it.”

Dimitri’s head rolls back down, slumped against his shoulder.

“I will pry that vile skull from her wretched neck… _limb_ by _limb_, I will…”

His utterances trickle out into the broken ramblings of a madman, ignoring Byleth’s presence again. Was this the life he’d been leading over the past five years? She could only imagine how much this hatred had eaten away at his conscience. Not a trace of her students was left in the monastery when she’d looked.

Had Dimitri really been lingering here, a ghost of his former self?

_Alone?_

. . .

She needed answers.

“Dimitri… what happened to you?”

As if he’d been splashed with cold water, Dimitri jolts upright. He blinks several times, evaluating Byleth’s face in confusion.

“Professor, you’re alive? That can’t…”

_Alive?_

What a peculiar observation. Astonishment was expected given her absence over the years. Yet standing before him, flesh and blood, how could she be anything _but_ alive?

He really was in worse condition than she’d thought.

His eye darts again to look at her hand, still outstretched, as though it were cursed. He avoids contact entirely, dragging himself upright and pacing towards the exit. Dimitri seems set on abandoning her here without another word, spear in hand.

Given the circumstances, she had nowhere to go but follow. Byleth is quick to match his pace, meeting him at the center of the room.

“I’m glad you’re safe.” She offers a small, sincere smile.

A sentiment that goes unrequited.

“Am I?”

He growls, wearing a dark expression. The prince storms up next to her, and only then does Byleth realize just how much he’d grown in five years. Step by step, Dimitri closes in on her, pressuring her own steps backward.

“Are _you_ safe, Professor?”

He catches her off guard.

The meaning of his words evades Byleth, at least until he slams his palm against the wall beside her. Its stone cracks on impact, yet Dimitri seems completely unfazed by the blow to his hand.

“Do you think an _animal_ such as I is above killing you?”

Towering over her, his body is unexpectedly close. He inches in, further, forcing her back until she meets the wall. The raw stench of blood over metal pierces her nostrils. Byleth feels his ragged breaths tracing against her forehead. Their eyes are locked, and she’s taken in by his unspoken fury.

His vision wavers, now half-lidded eye trailing down from her face to the exposed skin of her chest. The words are low, guttural when he speaks again.

“_Or worse?_”

Byleth swallows.

An empty threat, surely.

Yet the Dimitri she knew would never utter such a sentiment, even out of falsehood. For the first time during their reunion, Byleth felt _afraid_. Could she honestly determine if he was lying or not? How much had he _really_ changed in five years?

She had the Sword of the Creator to defend herself with, but the distance between them was too short. Less than an arm’s reach away from the unspeakable. He would interfere with ease if he saw her reach for her sheath.

The nearest village was miles away from earshot.

No one would answer her call if Byleth needed to scream for help.

. . .

Byleth takes her chances.

“I know you wouldn’t, Dimitri.”

Despite the fear, she holds her ground. Byleth straightens her back and faith steels her forward.

Memories of a polite smile, his compassionate disposition… the silent promises they’d uttered to each other atop the Goddess Tower. Her year spent teaching at Garreg Mach, by no exaggeration, had been the greatest time of her life. She carries their past together with pride.

And whatever hell he’d been dragged through would never be enough to undermine that.

To her surprise, Dimitri pulls away and allows her the space. The shock is apparent on his face, though it’s not long before his expression sours again.

Byleth reaches for the hand unfurled against the wall beside her, but Dimitri wrenches himself away. He’s visibly pained, wincing and avoiding her eyes. As if the very _thought_ of her touch is enough to burn him. The prince turns again to face the stairs, lowering his head.

“No, Professor,” he manages to choke out.

“You don’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> From this point on, the chapters will take place from Dimitri's POV. I plan on formatting them all like this one, with a memory segment in the first half. Haven't written in a long time so I'm eager to shake off the rust and see what I can do. Overall optimistic, and not just because I'm eager to write some porn of this beautiful man lol


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